A Terrible Price
by whiteknight77
Summary: *SPOILERS FOR SEASON III* After the events of "An Invisible Thread," memories are restored, but this time Gabriel is in control, not Sylar. When Gabriel feels Sylar returning, he does what he must to protect those he loves.
1. Chapter 1

All he could hear was the rain. It pounded the dark windows in waves, as if threatening to cave in the rooftops and drown him. Gabriel welcomed the rain, and he did so with more sincerity than he would have guessed. The rain was soothing as well as deafening. It covered the Earth so completely, and Gabriel liked to think it could somehow cover his past. The darkness was equally welcomed, it was not dismal but beautiful. Darkness, he thought, had been given a undeserved bad reputation. The ever-cliché dark and stormy night comforted him more than any sunshiny day ever could. It was like a soft lullaby that allowed him to drift off into the closest thing to sleep he could achieve. But Gabriel had not truly slept in years.

His body was special; like his mind. Sleep deprivation did not affect him nearly as much as it would an average person, but cell regeneration could not subside the silent screams that tortured him night after night. He read incessantly, trying to block out the real world, but sooner or later everything called to remembrance the monster he really was. He was Prometheus, chained to himself to suffer for eternity as every day he was tortured and healed, yet every day the pain returned to tear open new wounds all over again. He was Hamlet, on the verge of suicide and hopelessly deferring what he knew he had to do. He was Faust, making a deal with the devil to find power and knowledge, yet ultimately losing his soul to an evil that was too terrible to ever mount a rescue. Whenever he considered suicide he dismissed it immediately; death was too good for him. He deserved to suffer every cry and nightmare and, in any case, for all intents and purposes, he was already dead.

But there was one respite. There was one small, ever-precious beacon of light that could begin heal the scars that covered his soul. She could somehow find room in herself to trust him, and miraculously, to love him. He stopped wondering about this a long time ago, because he could not come up with an answer. He had never revealed his past to her, and the fear of her ever discovering it augmented the pain. Fear; how appropriate he would suffer the same fate as his countless victims. Briefly, he wondered if God had sent her to him, as living proof that anyone could be redeemed. Now he laughed at the thought. Ludicrous, really. So he stopped trying, and tried to devote his time to caring for her. It wasn't the cell regeneration that kept him alive, it was his love for her and nothing else. Gabriel dragged himself up from his oak desk where he had been lazily fixing a Rolex. Stupid watch. He couldn't pinpoint when he started hating watches, but restoring timepieces was currently his only source of income, so he would fix them. He pulled off the multi-lens that he didn't really need and dropped it too heavily on the desk; one of the lens cracked. Without sparing a second glance he walked out, kicking off his shoes to slip through the hallway unnoticed; he must not wake her. It was always an effort to get her bedroom door open because it creaked very noisily and she always kept it closed while she slept, no matter how hot or humid the weather. The light of the full moon spilled into her bedroom; it was so soft, just like her. She had saved him, because love, no matter how small, was the most powerful force in the universe. It dwarfed hatred and violence as a star does to a planet; even and especially Earth. Earth, where every person had ever or would ever live, crammed onto a tiny planet humanity delighted in abusing. He fell down that road of hatred and murder looking to be significant, but it was only now that he realized that everyone, from the most famous celebrity to the mundane office worker, was insignificant. Everyone had maybe eighty, ninety years if they were lucky, to live, and did anyone make a difference? Maybe? Yes? No? Not really. The only thing that makes humanity truly special was the capacity for love, and he had rejected it profoundly. Ironic.

Tomorrow he would sit down with the one he loved, the only person on the planet that loved him back, and break her heart in such a way that she would never, ever recover. He would look into her eyes and wilfully tear her life in two. It would be the pinnacle of his countless acts of evil. She would never be able to reproduce the love she had for him; he would steal it and destroy it. Gabriel was underweight because he had vomited so often at the slightest thought of it. He was empty.

Gabriel dropped to his knees and begged whoever might be listening to let him drown. But the rain, the soft, soothing rain had stopped, and the noises of the busy city could now clearly be heard. Tomorrow he would find the only man who could kill him and beg, get down on his knees if necessary, for death.


	2. Chapter 2

She had always liked Peter Petrelli. She had only met him a few times, but he was kind enough to her. Always seemed a little surprised to see her there, and he would study her with a subdued silence. Petrelli was one of the few who didn't address Gabriel as…that other name. The 'S' word that she had never even uttered. Though for a long time he didn't explain why, Gabriel had expressly forbidden it, and she wouldn't have wanted to anyway. It was chilling and dark, like the stranger she saw in her nightmares. The stranger haunted her with night terrors which never changed yet never lost the ability to terrify her profoundly. She always believed she had woken up, and standing at the foot of her bed was Gabriel, watching her sleep. But it wasn't Gabriel. He had slicked back hair and a denim jacket, with eyes that were always looking directly into hers. The eyes were smiling, but his mouth wasn't, and it was an evil smile that hid itself beneath the façade of normalcy. She would truly wake up then, often screaming, and the _real_ Gabriel would rush in. The real Gabriel was wide-eyed with concern, with a mouth that smiled but his eyes never did. In the middle of the night his hair was always a mess because he went to bed with that old-fashioned side part he liked so much, and he looked just as afraid as she did. She dreamt of Sylar, but he was never anything more than a nightmare.

She snapped out of her reverie to the issue at hand. They were going to visit Peter soon. Though she didn't mind him, they only ever visited when bad things were happening. When bad people were a threat to nice people, to innocent people. Gabriel and Peter would leave her home, maybe with Angela or that pretty girl, Claire, in the Petrelli house. It was much bigger, much grander than their apartment, but it was perpetually dark and quiet, like an old museum after-hours. Gabriel would speak to her in a voice so stern she was frightened every time as he told her she was under _no circumstances_ to leave the house while he was gone. She never did. Hours later they would return. Most of the time their clothes would be torn and bloodstained, but there was never a scratch on either man. She knew in all likelihood Gabriel and Peter had probably killed someone that night. But whoever it was had been a Bad Guy. Good Guys killed the Bad Guys—that's how it always worked.

But this time they weren't visiting for that reason; it was something else. Something dark. Something that brought Sylar out of her nightmares and into the daylight.

One lazy summer evening Gabriel had told her everything, about who he was, what he did, what he felt. Children could be heard playing baseball in a nearby park, and as the sun set, the sound of the night time cricket chorus was audible. But these comforting summer sounds were drowned in every word Gabriel forced out of his mouth. It felt like poison his body had overcome and now was burning him from the inside out as he told her in as little detail as possible what he knew she had to hear as he recounted the four years of hell for which he was responsible. He had intended on doing it in stages, but she asked question after question, bravely listening to the answers. Her Gabriel had not simply been _a_ Bad Guy, he had been _the_ Bad Guy. The Bogeyman. A murderer. As they stood in the kitchen together, for a moment he felt his eyes fill with tears. No. No, this was not allowed. There was no way he would cry when she so desperately needed him to be strong. He slid off his glasses to wipe away the tears, calmly, in the same manner he had always slid off his glasses every day. He heard her cry out, but it caught in her throat and was choked before it could grow into a scream. He immediately looked up at her, and for a moment she saw the same eyes that stood at the foot of her bed in the dark hours of night. His brows furrowed in concern, compassionate concern, and the smiling eyes gave way to Gabriel's wide-eyed stare again. When he replaced the glasses, he was the same man she had always known. They didn't sleep at all that night, not one second, didn't even lie down. The sun rose, and the kitchen was filled with a dusty grey light that was as cold as it was comforting. He thought she would reject him, loathe him entirely and would not have been surprised if she moved out.

After hours of silence, he quietly said: "If you want to move out, I understand. I'll give you enough money, I'll, no, I'll give you as much money as you want. I can, I'll…do you---do you want to leave?" She opened her mouth to reply, but it was as dry as cotton. She just shook her head.  
"No?" Gabriel asked. She shook her head again; a definitive 'no.' He nodded. "Sweetheart, no matter what I say, what I do…I could apologize every moment for the rest of my life, and not begin to express the remorse I feel. I was …another person." He looked up from the kitchen table, at her, then back down again as if confused. "I suppose I was…looking to make love stay."

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She learned that for a brief period Gabriel had lived another life, that of Petrelli's brother, Nathan, who she never met. Matt Parkman erased Gabriel's memories and replaced them with Nathan's; it didn't hold. After a few months, it became evident that he had powers he couldn't explain and childhood memories he couldn't recall. One day he woke up as Gabriel; he had shapeshifted during the night. Parkman cornered him and tried to reset his memory again, but Gabriel resisted and Parkman almost died.

But then they met, and she changed all that. Had she known about Sylar, she would have tried to run as soon as she saw him, but she didn't. She was dying, a gunshot wound to the belly. By the time he found her she was numb and moments from death. Initially, he stepped over her with indifference, but something made him stop. Perhaps it was the fear. He raised a hand to finish the job, but something so compelling overtook him he was unable to finish. He tore open her shirt to examine the wound more closely and almost lost interest. Belly wounds were very bad, and this one had gone too long without attention. He wasn't a doctor and this kid had minutes, maybe less, before succumbing to her injuries. His intuitive aptitude kicked in, and he knew exactly what had to be done to save her. He understood the tissue damage, saw all the lacerations, understood what to do. She would need a hospital in any case, but he was confident he could keep her alive long enough to get her there. He carried her there and left her in a wheelchair in front of the emergency room doors. No one would have time to ask questions with someone this close to death. As he left her, she grazed his cheek with her hand.

"Thank you" she whispered softly. Grunting in response, he quickly looked down at her to lower her into the wheelchair. He was momentarily startled when he saw her eyes had glazed over with a ghostly white haze. She was staring at him intently and focused with her eyes, white as bones, though moments ago she had been barely conscious. "You're sick…you don't know who you are." He was taken aback. "Gabriel Gray…it's who you are." Gabriel stepped back. He had abandoned his Nathan Petrelli shape most of the time, preferring the shape he twisted into each night. He had dark hair and dark brown eyes, prominent eyebrows, slightly taller than average height. Slim, but not skinny, with somewhat defined muscles. He had no idea who he was, but he liked this look. As soon as she healed he spirited her away, past security and out of the hospital, intent on finding out who he was. She restored his memories easily; that was her ability. Instead of taking her ability, which is what Sylar would have done, for some reason it was Gabriel who emerged from the human shell which had been so entirely emptied by amnesia. And Gabriel was sick of Sylar. Sylar had done enough damage. So Gabriel walked home with her in his arms and left Sylar to die in the rain.

Or so he thought.

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Gabriel was kneeling. He had not prayed for years, but he felt the words spilling out of him as uncontrollably as blood gushed from a fresh wound. Had he been able to hear himself, he might have noticed that his pleas were so hysterical they were hardly coherent. He felt the dark walls of relapse close around him like sand, burying him alive as he clawed and gasped in a pathetic attempt to climb out, but there was nothing to hang on to. He was soaked in blood, and not his own. He stared down at his clothes, hating himself for wishing Sylar's numbness could take hold of him again. They were drenched, absolutely covered in blood and vomit. Though he had killed dozens, Gabriel could not stomach the sight of it now, not more death. He began to gag again, but had already emptied the contents of his stomach, leaving his abdominals to contort with the dry heaves. The lifeless corpse rested at his feet, her face still twisted in the final scream, her last futile act before a violent death. Gabriel tried to reason with himself. _It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me_…but it was. It was him. And this was body number six. Murder was horrifying, but the truly chilling revelation set in when he caught himself justifying it. Allowing himself to be a moral judge, deciding who lives and who dies—it was …Sylar. Sylar was returning. Gabriel dropped his head to the ground and begged not to be condemned this way. He had worked so hard, but the hunger was too strong. It was like eating or sleeping, to sleep perchance to dream…an 'evolutionary imperative'. _Damn you, Chandra. Damn you to hell_. How he wished that man had never found him! Was that why Sylar had killed him? Shaking, he squeezed his eyes shut as he repeated the same mantras over and over, but they fell flat in his mind. He wouldn't hurt her, he _couldn't_. But for thirty years he never would have believed he could hurt his mother, until one day Sylar drove a pair of sewing needles into her chest. Instead of cleaning the blood he painted the floor with it, literally. And Elle, the woman who almost loved him, he killed her moments after softly kissing her with genuine affection. Could she tell then, what he was going to do after he lowered her to the ground with such incredible tenderness? He could still feel her small fingers, interlaced with his against the cold, wet sand. She had squeezed his hand tightly when he began to cut her, not looking to escape his strong arms, only to brace herself against the pain.

No one was safe; not from Sylar. His most desperate cries couldn't help him now, nothing could. His voice was too faint, and the world, even her, was simply too far away. He was paralysed. Memories of Elle brought to mind another sensation he had not thought of for a long, long time. It was rough and terrifying, but Gabriel had been a braver man then. He hadn't hesitated to put his head through the noose and dutifully remembered to slide the coil of the knot to the nape of his neck. He had tied it slowly and carefully, hoping very much to do it correctly so his neck would snap. Climbing upwards now, seeing a view of his workshop he'd never seen; it looked so different from up high. A final image of Brian Davis, a flash of the jagged quartz so cool in his murderous hands, and he kicked the chair away. His knot, tied with careful watchmaker's hands, was not enough to snap him though, not without a drop. He was left to strangle to death. He hadn't heard her come in.

Gabriel knew what he had to do.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three years ago_

The relationship they shared was an odd one. He was thirteen years her senior, so at thirty-one he was too old to be her boyfriend, too young to be her father, and the relationship they shared was not even close to that of a brother and sister. On the odd occasion Gabriel thought about it, he vaguely thought of "roommates," but the term never quite fit. Initially, Gabriel could care less what she did in her spare time. She would stay out all night, come home drunk and bring home more men than he could count; all strangers. This was her business though, she was young, but old enough that he felt it inappropriate to tell her what to do. But one night she went too far—and the doctors barely brought her back again. He dropped the phone as soon as he heard, without bothering to replace it on the cradle. The minutes that followed felt like hours, dripping past him as he scrambled to find keys and glasses. His hands felt like jelly, covered in sweat and dropping everything he needed, fingers shaking. As he ran down the hallway of their apartment complex, Gabriel felt it was easily the most scared he had ever been in his entire life, and he had tasted death many times over. Or, Sylar had, anyway.

He raced to the hospital and dashed in so quickly he almost forgot to introduce himself as "Joshua Stiles" to the receptionist. Not having a legal identity could be very inconvenient sometimes, but Gabriel Gray would be tossed onto death row so fast his head would spin. Gabriel was declared legally missing after police tried to track him down following his mother's death. Apparently, he was still the prime suspect. It had taken considerable effort on his part, but the fake IDs were convincing. Sylar only had to murder four people to get them. Briefly, he wondered if he had bothered keeping anything else Sylar had left lying around. Funny what wanders into one's head during a crisis.

That night, Gabriel sat by her bedside, keeping a solemn vigil until the morning light grew grey over the city. It was had been an overdose on God knows what and the doctors thought it miraculous she had been able to make it through. Her blood tests revealed such a cocktail of illegal substances it was almost impossible to tell which one had done the damage. As the weeks grew on, he held her hand throughout the recovery process, but it was so slow. Progress would be made, then relapse—progress, relapse. Gabriel knew she was intensely frustrated; he was, too. After weeks, they returned home together, and for a brief spell she appeared clean and healthy.

It wasn't long before she began slipping. He knew she was hiding things from him, and it was painful to watch. Gabriel was unwilling to see her suffer through rehab again. It was nearly 1:00AM when he slowly shuffled into the living room, lifting his faraway gaze off the floor and focused on her, purposeful and severe.

"Turn off the T.V." he said quietly. She immediately felt a deep shiver as his words caught her attention sharply, not so much what he said, but how he said it. Apprehensive, she did as he asked with emotionless features. He faltered for a moment, moving to sit down, then changing his mind, turning again. He furrowed his brows in concentration, as if the words he wanted to say were jumbled around inside him, but not in the correct order. Was it anger she saw in his eyes? Somehow she knew it was, no matter how expertly he veiled it. She saw him tilt his head to one side, choosing his words carefully, and knew he was good at keeping secrets. Now his gaze was locked on her and it made her uncomfortable. Horribly uncomfortable, because it was like a spotlight she couldn't run from, and it illuminated what she didn't want seen.

"I found it. In your room. Did you really think you could hide it?" There was no point in denying it, an argument would only serve to prolong the imminent unpleasantness. "So. Were you going to tell me, or did you actually think you could stop on your own?" Gabriel realized his last sentence had a mocking edge to it, and immediately regretted it. He opened his mouth to clarify what he had said, but every attempt at rewording he somehow ended up swallowing.

She looked numb, like someone dying of hypothermia who was falling away from the cold and fear and desiring only to go to sleep.

"Gabriel…I…can't have this conversation." It was weak, but definitive. Now he was angry. Was that _all_ she was going to say? Hundreds of dollars of illegal drugs, and she thought a simple refusal would appease him? Maybe she was high right now; maybe she was getting better at hiding it, or he had become blind. His features twisted into confusion in spite of his anger and his eyes finally settled on something other than her. "Are you kidding me? We are going to talk about this because I will not have it in my home, do you understand? Sorry if I don't plan on sitting back and watch you crawl back into hell again, oh, and by the way, you'll end up taking me along with you for the ride. So don't tell me what you can and can't do, because I'm sick of hearing it." Without realizing it, he had drawn himself closer to her and was now sitting next to her, his own face inches from hers.

She refused to look at him. "No, please, Gabriel, don't make me. I don't want to, I just…I just want to pretend they're not there. I don't want to, I…" Her face was in her hands now, to block out the light that seemed to be piercing into her. Gabriel's eyes hardened and somehow became dark. His voice was gravely and deep, but so quiet she had to listen carefully to make out his words.

"That's what your entire life consists of, Julia. It's simply a matter of wanting, isn't it?" When he finished his eyes weren't menacing, they were simply cruel. Another failure, another explanation of the blindly simple fact of why we do that which we hate. A desire to destroy ourselves.

Something inside her snapped, and it was not a clean break. As she heard him say those words, she knew it encapsulated what was most tragic about addiction. The complete inability to be at unity with oneself. To want and not want, to hate and to love, to be motivated and driven by external factors that wreaked havoc on the expertly crafted human body. Her previously broken spirit now shattered like glass into innumerable pieces. And it wanted to get out.

"My God, Gabriel, how can you say that? No one _wants_ to be a drug addict, that's why it's called addiction! You just are. Okay? It just…one day…_augh_!" Her voice was covered in exasperation, at Gabriel, at the drugs—but mostly at herself.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows matter-of-factly. "I'm going to ask you a simple question. Are you going to keep doing this?" She was thrown off by his bluntness. Somehow she felt indignant, like he was asking her a question she couldn't reply to, but he already knew the answer. Every insecurity she had bubbled over the surface of herself, and every word Gabriel said was tainted with her own self-loathing. She turned away from him. Her toxic sense of pride told her he was accusing her of something. He wasn't offering help, he was judging her, just like everyone else. Forcing her to acknowledge the perpetual cycle of the addict, maintained by nothing but her own weakness. But that fierce pride still allowed her to look away from him as her ghost-words crept out of her.

"You know what, Gabriel? I think I am. Maybe I will. You know what, I tried, I seriously tried, and just failed over and over again, so I don't even care anymore, ok? Just give me the goddamned drugs. You would not understand. And _I don't care_!" There was a moment of silence before Gabriel jumped to his feet. His voice grew into a sharp crescendo, his words abrupt and forceful. She sat up at the strangely foreign tone he had assumed. It was deep and dark, as if it were hiding a wicked smile just below the surface. It chilled her deeply. He continued: "I will not have this in my home. You don't care about what I've done for you? You don't care about me? Maybe I'm done caring about you. Get out." She stared dumbly as the effect of his words bounced off her. He stepped forward, and for the first time in her life she was afraid of him.

Gabriel heard his voice say the words, but couldn't believe what he was saying. Whatever strange sounds he had made, they certainly had the desired effect. She got up slowly, but the shock appeared to fade fast.

"Can't handle me, eh? Well. That's not really a surprise. Fine. See you around, Gabe." Never in his life had he heard words so contrived. An act, and a poor one at that. Even a child could tell her words barely held even a grain of truth. And she'd never called him Gabe before.

He knew eviction wasn't the answer to substance abuse, far from it. But things where never _real_ for her. He wanted consequences to be _real_. He wanted her to know she could lose him, because she no longer cared about losing herself. It was a gamble, but it was all he had. It wasn't until he heard the front door slam shut that he realized what he had actually done.

----------------------------------

Mostly the rain was just cold. It was cold in itself, and cold because it could pierce every part of her. Her clothes were threadbare, and the rain found its way through every ragged tear and seam. It made everything slick and uncomfortable, her clothes chaffing and heavy, but mostly it was just cold. It contrasted with a deeper cold that was wrapping itself around her, choking her like thorns. She had something once, something beautiful. She had a friend who loved her, a warm place to sleep and the possibility of the ever sought-after yet perpetually elusive "normal life." When she thought about it, a flicker of warmth and hope moved inside her, only to be drowned by the cold that numbed her mind and her heart. Because she had thrown it all away in an argument…words. Words. Just words. Words couldn't be that important, not really. They could be created, destroyed, manipulated, twisted, omitted or fabricated. Words were transitory, and they could be wholly sincere or utterly meaningless. They had different definitions for different people and never really did justice as the sign to the signified. Not like love. Love was eternal and fixed. It could not be manipulated, it simply was. So why had she discarded it so casually, after more meaningless words? She looked around, somehow, she had ended up across town. She would have to take the bus back. Gabriel would let her in, she was sure of it. Then, she resolved, she would not let words get between love again.

When she arrived the rain was coming down in fierce sheets. The door was locked, and she wondered if she could summon the strength to knock with enough force for him to hear. As the door opened she immediately lost her balance as she realized she had been leaning almost all of her weight on it. How long had she been standing there? He caught her quickly, his warm skin so soothing against her ice-cold body. She thought she heard him mutter _Oh, thank God_ or something similar as he gingerly pulled her up into a standing position again.

"Hypothermia" he said simply, leading her into the bathroom. She was dazed and non-responsive. Why in the hell had he done that? Maybe _he_ was the one on drugs. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_…In the dark glow of the 60-watt light bulb that hung from the bathroom ceiling he helped her tug off her wet clothes until she was wearing nothing but underwear, then stepped out into the hall. "I think you can manage the rest on your own. But I'm not closing the door. Promise I won't look." He listened as she climbed into the tub, gasping sharply at the lukewarm water. He leaned heavily against he wall and slowly slid down it into a sitting position, resigned against the doorframe. She didn't stay in the water for very long, but he was confident they had warded off the worst of the hypothermia as he heard her fumble with the terry-cloth bathrobe he had left hanging on the door. It had been his mother's.

He held her hand as he led her to her bedroom, now devoid of all illegal substances. The old bed creaked as they both sat down on the bed. As soon as she was sitting, he stood up again and lifted her legs up on top of the bed to bring her into a lying down position. He resumed his place at her side, and whispered to her while stroking her hair.

"I never intended to kick you out for good. Oh, Jesus, I was worried sick the whole time. I just wanted you home, sweetheart. You must know that, right? Tell me you know that. I'm so sorry, I just, I can't watch you destroy yourself any longer. I love you."

To his surprise, she reached awkwardly around him to hold his free hand, she kissed it softly and he wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I've failed you, somehow, I…what can I—what can I do? What can I do?" He was breathing deeply, trying to conjure up a solution to a desperate situation.

Pleading, she said "Gabriel, please, that's not necessary. This is enough. I won't do it again, I promise." Her voice was laced with fear.

Gabriel propped himself up on one elbow to look at her in the eyes. Mild confusion danced behind his eyes. Why was she afraid of him? Softer now, "There's no need to be afraid. You shouldn't fear me. The problem is, one night of punishment is not enough to ensure a complete turnaround from the lifestyle you're currently living. I'm sorry, but regardless of what you say, I don't think reform happens that quickly. Believe me, I know…" He shuddered, and briefly she wondered why. "We're going to take this day by day. And I don't want you to be afraid. I love you." Those last three words carried an immense gravity, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd heard them. She took his hand again and pulled it under her cheek to rest her head on it.

He kissed her forehead. "Okay, little one. I love you."

"I love you, too, Gabriel."

She cried, and Gabriel knew he would by crying later on. But over the past two and a half years he watched her slowly give up the drugs, cut back and then cut out the alcohol and promiscuous, unsafe sex. She hadn't gotten in trouble with the law or had any life threatening situations and successfully procured and held down a good job. A bright future. He would continue doing what he was doing.


	4. Chapter 4

It was their last night together. Though he objected, Peter had agreed to do it the next day, in Mohinder Suresh's laboratory. Gabriel had initially hesitated to do it there, where Sylar had killed the loft's original owner Isaac Mendez, but logically it was the best place for it. He quickly agreed on the location, as did Suresh. Noah Bennett would also be present, as would Angela Petrelli. Gabriel had almost laughed. Of course those two would be there. They were _everywhere_.

Gabriel sat with her in their apartment as they looked outside at the dark and beautiful summer thunderstorm. She didn't say it, but Gabriel knew her darting gaze was looking for a rainbow somewhere in the sun and clouds. It was childish, but she would look anyways. Unexpected, but timely, a deep feeling of discontent began to churn in his stomach, because this was exactly the problem. She was too young to be left alone, to be orphaned again. Peter had promised he would look out for her, even allow her to move in if necessary. Gabriel did not doubt Peter would keep his promise, but it did little to comfort him. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and told her for the millionth time how he hated to leave her, how he loved her so very much, how she would always be his little one—how he was dying for her sake.

He was startled when she pulled away, twisting out of his grip with an atypical aggression. She pried his grip off him and withdrew into herself, looking angry and scared. "No!" she said, her voice low. "You don't need to do this! I know you don't, Gabriel, I know you! This is crazy, you're crazy, I just—" She broke off sharply as she looked up, away from the floor and at Gabriel. For the rest of her life she would never forget the look on his face. He was completely still and his complexion was a sickly pale. His gaze was directed at her, but his eyes seemed to be staring through her, somewhere far away. She almost sense, with all five senses, how bad she had hurt him. A small choking sound rattled in his throat as his breathing rapidly switched from contented, relaxed breaths to short, tight gasps. Trying not to cry. Gabriel's head listlessly dropped down until his chin was touching his chest; like a dead man. She instantly realized what she had done and regret struck her, not washed over her, but hit her like a bolt of lightning. "On no, no, no…" she was immediately holding him, smelling his drug-store cologne and feeling the mild sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Please, forgive me" she whispered. "Gabriel, I will never, ever stop missing you. Not ever." For a few horrible moments she deeply feared something inside him had broken, a coil, a spring, like one of the few watches that he had actually thrown away; they were too useless to bother fixing.

Despite the summer humidity, relieved by the sharp cracks of lighting and kettle drum thunder, he was cold. Somehow, he was cold inside, perhaps too frozen to be reached. He looked up at her, and his brown eyes seemed to regain a little warmth when he kissed her forehead. "Shhh," he soothed. It's going to be okay. You'll get through this, because you are brave and strong and intelligent. Someday, you'll be able to remember all the good memories without it hurting. This is my solemn promise to you."

_She doesn't deserve this_, he thought. He was being selfish again. As with love, its powerful counterpart, pain could not be created or destroyed, only transferred. He was transferring his pain to her, and that wasn't fair. But he had no choice, he really didn't. Maybe she could transfer the pain to someone else someday. He felt sick again. How much longer could he hold himself together in one piece? Maybe he would scream, or faint, or even throw up as the pain drilled into him, deeper and deeper. But the emotional valve had been relieved, and as she settled into his arms, he content for the moment. She looked directly into his eyes as she said "I love you."

He sat up, not too quickly, and felt it easier to breath as his posture straightened up. He took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows, almost candidly. "I love you, too. Very much. Forever. Take deep breaths, feel your breathing, slow and steady." Something had been…had been… _fixed_. Repaired. Something had shaken off the frozen lethargy and he looked out the window, renewed, appreciating the beauty of the storm for the first time in years. It was not the first time she told him she loved him, not by a long shot. But this time it had restored something, and that was so different. He felt the oxygen fill his lungs and breathed deeply until he felt a mild tingle in his head and chest. She followed his lead and sat up next to him. What was the point of spending the last evening moping? There had been enough grief and pain in both of their lives, no need to surrender their last moments to more of it. A lighting bolt illuminated the sky, and Gabriel switched off the lights in the apartment to get a better view. It was the best way to watch a thunderstorm. The sun had set moments ago.

"I don't want to go to sleep tonight. I want to stay with you." She said quietly. Gabriel nodded and leaned his head back, stretching his muscles and waking up from something much more frightening than the most terrifying nightmare. But that was gone. Somewhere in the darker corners of the apartment he could hear Sylar's ragged breaths. Sylar knew he was dying, and had been fighting fiercely for days. Gabriel had managed to keep him at bay, using his own hatred to keep Sylar deep within him. But he was growing so tired, so incredibly tired, and weak. Soon he would need to let Sylar out again, before he clawed his way out. Or Gabriel could rest. Permanently.

Calling up what little remained of his strength, he pushed the thought out of his mind. His voice was candid again. "If you can, stay awake as long as you like. I hope that I have taught you that with self-control to do anything you like, that you must never let the desire to give in to appetitive desires control you." He didn't add "like I did," but she knew he was thinking it. He continued "Secondly, I hope I've taught you that no matter how bad something seems at first, you will always pull through."

"Gabriel you have taught me, you really have. You saved me. From a bullet. From the world. From myself." And they stayed up all night and watched the stars.

………………………………………

The next morning was brilliant sunshine, yet Gabriel didn't resent it one bit. This was the end for him, but a new beginning for his girl. He was sad when he thought about how difficult it would be for her, but he knew she would grow and move on. He had done what he was meant to do: teach her to avoid his mistakes. They held hands as they walked over together, and laughed together as if it had been any other of the countless Saturday mornings they'd spent together.

As they walked into the loft, the others were waiting for them. Neither were afraid or angry, but sad, in a bittersweet way. Out of all his books, Gabriel wasn't Prometheus or Hamlet or Faust, but Henry Jekyll. And by his death, he would lay to rest his own Mr. Hyde.

**CHAPTER VI**

The poison would work in two ways. One, it would paralyse the brain from which he controlled his abilities. The cellular regeneration would be stopped as long as the drug was in his system. Mohinder Suresh had used it on him once, a lifetime ago. The second drug mixed into the cocktail would simply stop his heart. Gabriel calmly walked to the bed and lowered himself down on it. The sheets were cool and clean, and he wondered if he was scared or not. As his head fell onto the small pillow the sun shone directly in his eyes, and he instinctively rolled his head to the side, squinting in the glare. Peter's shadow fell across Gabriel as he stepped to stand over him, shielding him from the light. Gabriel relaxed and rolled flat onto his back again. Peter was looking down at him with an incredible empathy. No one quite knew where Peter found the strength for such compassion, but wherever it was, he had access to an endless supply.

For lack of a better word, Peter was there for security purposes. If Sylar somehow got loose, there was no way he would allow it to end this way. Gabriel knew this, and knew that Peter would have to be present in case the creeping shadow turned lurking monster rose to the surface. Somewhere deep inside him, Sylar was screaming. Sylar was pounding his fists and raking his nails, trying desperately to get out. He would fall into obscurity, Sylar told him. No one would remember him. He wouldn't be special. But she had taught him that he _was_ special, if only by this one act. Gabriel heard one last call echo in his mind: _"My name is Sylar!"_ But the pinprick feeling in his arm distracted him, and he relaxed, thinking only of the peaceful morning it was, and hoping that she would appreciate such mornings forever. He was so incredibly tired, and suddenly the bed underneath him felt like the most comfortable surface he'd ever rested on. He felt light, like air, and he could finally let go of something he'd tightened his grip on for years. He felt free.

Then there was nothing.

From her perspective it was quite different. His expression was hollow and vacant, and she wished she knew what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all. It was a simple procedure. The IV was inserted. His eyes slowly closed. His breathing became slower and slower, and she began to count the moments between his breaths. The intervals become longer and longer, until finally, they became indefinite. Suresh looked at his watch and called the time of death. Gabriel was gone.

**EPILOGUE **

It had been seven years since Gabriel gave up his life. She had mourned him profoundly and would never really heal completely, but the love he left with her was an ever-present comfort. The mental picture she retained of his body, lying on that bed so lifeless, would never leave her mind. But for the first time, he looked to be at peace. Resting, with the pain finally gone.

She had gone on to college and graduated _magna cum laude_ and found a good job helping people; a true success story.

Most people didn't believe Gabriel could ever be redeemed for the horrors he did, but she knew better. Because Gabriel had sacrificed his own life out of love, and love was capable of saving anyone. Greater love hath no man than this, and, after all, love is the most powerful force in the universe. Laying white roses on his gravestone, she kissed her hand and touched it to his name, tracing her fingers across the cool stone under the hot sun. _Thank you_, she thought. _For everything_. And she knew, more certain than she had ever been about anything, that somewhere out there Gabriel Gray was smiling.


End file.
